The Stone Prince

  Finally, she strode to the bay window, reached out with a shaky hand and removed the sheet. Moonlight spilled inside at the same moment she felt those invisible eyes upon her. All right, so she'd ignored another part of her decision. She was gazing at him, unable to look away. Big deal. She hadn't touched him. And she wouldn't. But even as she thought the words, Katie found herself strolling out the back door and into the twilight as if an invisible cord tugged her closer.

  A chilly April breeze caressed her cheeks and danced several long, pale strands of hair across her shoulders. Spring was a versatile time in Texas. In the matter of a single day, a cool wind could mutate into sizzling heat or bone-numbing cold. The closer she came to the stone warrior, the more her blood threatened to overheat, and she was immensely grateful for the chilly air.

  Up ahead, paper lanterns flickered, the bulbs within giving the illusion of actual flames. Crickets chirped a lazy tune. Colorful flowers bloomed in every corner, some yellow and pink, some purple and blue, but each filled the air with a sweet, floral fragrance. Katie worked her way around the winding bushes and soft petals that swayed in her path. When she faced the object of her torment, she came to an abrupt halt and drew in a deep breath.

  At last.

  Atop his marble base, the stone warrior towered above her, making Katie feel wonderfully small in comparison. As she had many times before, she studied the long, thick length of him--but only in the name of observation, of course. Lord, what would he feel like if he were actually real? What would he say and do to her? A shiver raced through her.

  His muscled chest, arms and legs gave him a powerful aura very few men possessed. Long strands of bright green ivy stretched around his left leg, the only color to his form. He was so blatantly masculine, so wonderfully detailed. His eyes seemed heavy-lidded, sleepy, as if forever beckoning a woman to bed. The beautiful sculpted lines of his face reminded her of a movie star. Or someone equally unattainable.

  "Damn it, you've invaded every aspect of my life. My dreams. My fantasies. My work. I don't understand how I can want you, need you this much."

  Touch me, those mouthwatering lips of his seemed to say.

  "No, I can't," she answered, but she was already reaching out. She traced her fingers over the cold, hard ridges of his abdomen, trying to absorb his essence. Maybe if she touched him enough, her obsession with him would wane. Entertaining that glimmer of hope, she moved her hands higher and circled his nipples. Just as before, a moan reverberated in her ears and the sound caused warm tingles to liquefy her bones.

  What would happen if...She gulped and tentatively moved her palms downward. Her fingers wrapped around his penis, an action so utterly insane, but entirely necessary for her peace of mind. Another bolt of pleasure shot through her, this one so hotly intense she was nearly incinerated.

  Katie jumped, startled. Surely she had just imagined such a forceful electrical charge. Brow wrinkled, she clasped his rigid length again. Shivers swirled and danced through her, just as intense and just as arousing. No, she had imagined nothing.

  Unable to stop herself, she climbed the marble steps until she stood at the very top, placing her eye-to-eye with the giant warrior. Katie blinked incredulously. Once. Twice. She would swear those eyes truly saw her. The thought made her swallow with trepidation, but she shook it off. Statues, no matter how eerily real, were simply inanimate objects.

  And yet...

  Kiss me, his expression said.

  The urge to do just that besieged her. Thankfully, her common sense reared its head. Touching a work of art she could somehow justify; kissing a work of art she could not.

  Kiss me.

  "No," she said. "No, no, no."

  Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me!

  This time, the words pounded through her mind, insistent, intense and demanding. Her gaze moved to the warrior's immobile lips, and her fingers soon followed, tracing the lush outline. Well, I could kiss him this once, she thought dazedly, but only this once. Twilight offered a shadowy sort of protection, so no one would ever have to know.

  That thought provided all the incentive she needed. Carefully, cautiously, Katie closed her eyes and cradled his cheeks in her hands. That invisible force pulled her, hard, and she moved closer, closer still. Then her lips met his. Ribbons of heat and passion and hunger traveled all the way through her, and all of her thoughts tapered to a close except one: This is what a kiss should be like.

  Her hands slid from his cheeks and into his thick, silky hair, holding him captive. His lips were softer, warmer, than she imagined, and she lingered far longer than she should have before laying her head upon his shoulder. Her nostrils filled with the clean, male scent of him.

  She could almost feel his hands caressing down her back, cupping her butt and guiding her even closer against him. She could almost feel his breath against the curve of her neck and the hot wetness of his tongue as it glided along her collarbone. Could almost feel the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart.

  "I truly am insane," she whispered, but Lord, she liked the feeling. Another breathy sigh slipped past her throat. Crickets began another leisurely tune while fireflies flickered and danced overhead. "If you were real, I'd gobble you up in one tasty bite."

  Then a deep voice whispered next to her ear, "I believe that can be arranged."

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE VOICE WAS pure unadulterated sin, like warm brandy on a cold night, and so suggestively sexual Katie thought she had imagined it, that her fantasy life was hitting a new level. But then she came to realize two startling facts. One, her inner voice had never spoken with a raspy, masculine accent before. And two, the strong, bracing arms she had visualized around her waist were actually there.

  Shocked, she snapped to attention...and found herself staring into the most beautiful pair of eyes. Eyes that were pale blue, almost crystalline, and aglow with knowing, wicked promise.

  Eyes that belonged to a man, not a statue.

  Katie gasped with a combination of disbelief, fascination and mortification. Where was the gray stone? Where was the freaking gray stone?

  Breath snagged in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes tightly closed. When she refocused, everything would be back to normal. She was sure of it. She was, after all, a mostly sane person. Yes, she experienced moments of madness--like kissing the statue, for instance--but those moments always passed.

  Please, Lord, let this moment pass.

  Very slowly, she cracked open her eyelids.

  The warrior's image remained the same: human.

  Damn, damn, damn, she thought desperately. How could a flesh-and-blood man with bronzed, completely kissable skin be holding her in his embrace, the heat of his body seeping through her clothes, his heartbeat pounding against her chest? Oh, God, the moon suddenly seemed brighter, the air thicker.

  "You're...you're..." Mystified, she struggled to form a coherent sentence. There was an explanation for this. She had only to ask. But when she opened her mouth, only one word formed. "How?"

  He withdrew his arms from her waist. Looking bewildered, he slowly moved his body this way and that, stretching and twisting each vertebra of his back as if for the very first time. And then--Lord above, he smiled, a devastating smile that revealed even white teeth and sent waves of sexual heat straight to her core.

  "I've owned this property for two and a half weeks, and I've walked through this garden almost every single day. You've been right here, hard and cold and stone. You're a statue," she babbled. "I know you're a statue."

  "Nay, katya. I was a statue." Just then his eyes widened with--joy? Awe? Disbelief? She wasn't sure which. Whatever the emotion, he appeared as if he had just realized the full extent of his proclamation.

  What the hell was going on? Katie's confusion grew with lightning speed. She needed to hear something intelligent and rational. Something believable. Not "I was a statue."

  Still grinning in that luscious way, he closed his eyelids and muttered a long string of unfamiliar words, his tone
urgent. When he refocused, he paused to catalog his surroundings. One heartbeat passed. Two. Fierce disappointment pulled at his lips, eradicating his smile. He uttered the words again. Again surveyed his surroundings.

  "Explain how this is possible," she said, a pleading quality in her voice. "How you were stone, and now you're a man. A trick of the light, maybe? Or a hallucination? That makes sense, right?"

  "Nay." He shook his head, causing dark locks of hair to sway at his temples. "It makes no sense whatsoever." He reached out then and touched her cheekbone, as if he needed to reassure himself that she was real.

  Perhaps it was that gentle caress, or maybe even her own wits finally sparking to life, but Katie suddenly realized that she had no idea what this very real, very muscled man planned to do to her. Battling a surge of fear, she slapped at his hand, pushed at his chest and spun around, ready to dart to her truck and speed away. But she had forgotten that she was perched on a ledge several feet above the grassy foundation. She teetered precariously on the edge, trying to regain her balance without actually reaching behind her and grabbing hold of the stranger.

  A second later, she hurtled face-first toward the ground. She twisted midair and managed to land on her butt with a painful thwack. The impact knocked the air from her lungs and whisked several strands of hair over her eyes.

  Once she found her breath, she jumped to her feet. She didn't run as she'd first intended, however. Be it shock or fascination, Katie remained firmly in place. The man had stepped down from the dais and stood just in front of her. He's taller than I am, she thought, her eyes widening. So tall, in fact, she was forced to look up, up, up. The realization caused her common sense to melt like ice cream in a hot summer sun. Amazingly, the top of her head barely peeked above his shoulders, and for the first time in her life, she felt breathtakingly feminine and surprisingly vulnerable.

  "Were my muscles not so stiff," he said, his ice-blue gaze sliding suggestively down her body, "I would have caught you." He took a step toward her.

  What am I doing? Retreat! "Stay where you are," she said, inching away.

  He sighed. "I mean only to ascertain you are unharmed. Women are weak, delicate creatures, and you collided quite forcefully with the ground."

  Katie stopped, her eyes narrowing as everything clicked into place like a lightbulb inside her mind. She scanned the garden. Her brothers were behind this and were most likely hiding in nearby bushes, having a good laugh at her expense. No one except her family spouted that "women are weak" crap.

  Lord, the man standing before her was probably Steven Harris, the detective Gray wanted her to date.

  "Gray, Nick, Erik, Denver...you can come out now," she called, spinning around to make sure her voice carried. "I know you're here."

  Steven, aka the statue, crouched down in attack position, scrutinizing the garden. His muscles tightened and strained. "These enemies await you?" His voice was almost imperceptible.

  "Not enemies. Idiots." Katie shouted for her brothers again. "The joke is getting old. Come out. I know this is Steven." She rammed a pointed finger into the hard warmth of the man's chest.

  "I am not called Steven."

  He said it with enough conviction and disgust that a small kernel of unease slithered along her spine. "I mean it," she yelled, her voice sharper than before, "come out or I'll give this guy the Tae Kwon Do Kick of Death you taught me."

  "So there is no danger to you?" the man asked.

  Only to my sanity. "No."

  His stance relaxed and he turned away from her. He began stretching again, this time rolling his shoulders and ankles. All the while the words I am not called Steven echoed in her mind. If he wasn't Gray's friend, who--and what--was he? The direction her mind veered just then scared and confounded her all the more. Had he...was it possible...could his transformation have happened supernaturally?

  No. No, no, no, no, no. The guy wasn't Steven Harris. Fine. That was easy to accept. But he was simply a man. A man who had a lot of explaining to do, be he a psycho killer or a practical jokester sent by her brothers.

  She chewed on her bottom lip. Psycho killer? "Maybe I should go," she said, trying for a nonchalant tone, but sounding more like a buzz saw grinding against wood. She began hedging backward again. He didn't offer a word or glance of protest, didn't act as if he cared, and after a moment's thought that brought her to a halt. Surely a killer would have tried to stop her.

  She stood there, curiosity battling with prudence while she silently observed this man who had appeared from nowhere, taking in every detail, searching for answers. He was just so...big. One flick of his wrist, and he could snap her neck like a twig. There was a gentleness to him, however, that belied any menacing intentions. A walking contradiction, he was. She must have blinked or lost focus, because she didn't notice any sudden movement toward her, yet suddenly he was just in front of her, looking at her, into her.

  "I thank you for breaking the curse," he said, tracing a finger along her nose. "But now I must go." Without another word, he slipped around her and strode away.

  Curse? "Where are you going?" The man had materialized in her garden, wearing nothing but a smile, and thought he could leave without any type of explanation? Oh, that just pissed her off, made her forget any lingering hint of fear. He was big enough to hurt her, yes, but she was mad enough to inflict some major damage of her own. "I demand you tell me who you are and how you transformed from stone to man."

  In a graceful motion at odds with his size and previous inflexibility, he spun around to face her. His eyes possessed a wistful quality. In a mere snap of time, his soft expression mutated into potent fury, like fire across a night sky, both hot and cold at the same time. "A woman has no right to issue such a demand."

  Had a sword been strapped to his waist, she felt certain he would have unsheathed it just then--and used it on her! He was tense and ready, like a vengeful hunter inspecting cornered prey.

  Unexpectedly, he turned and again strode away.

  Just let him go, she thought. But Katie found herself calling out, "Wait!" She jolted after him and latched on to his arm. A puny action, really, but he stopped all the same. "You can't leave. You're naked."

  He took his time facing her this time. When he did, he arched one brow in an insolent salute and gazed down at her. "You know not your place, woman."

  His words expressed displeasure. But his voice was husky and richly intent, and resonated a secret, carnal meaning meant only for lovers. Did he realize what his tone had just suggested? He stared down at her, his eyes heavy-lidded and erotically inviting. Her nerve-endings sparked with renewed life. Oh, yes. He knew. He knew exactly what he'd suggested, and if she gave him the slightest encouragement, he'd strip her down and put her "in her place."

  Katie gulped, feigning ignorance. "I own this land. This is my place."

  "'Tis not what I meant and well you know it. Someday a man will show you exactly where you belong by giving you the savage bedding you silently asked for each time you passed through this garden."

  Hearing the actual words proved more potent than the veiled innuendo, and she jerked her fingers from their tenuous hold on his bicep. What stung was that there was nothing she could say to discount him. Only five minutes ago she had caressed the stone man's nipples, wrapped her palm around his penis (twice!), and kissed his lips.

  This wasn't any friend of her brothers'.

  The truth of it danced through her, undeniable now in every way. Her brothers would never allow a man to intimidate her like this. Or even invite her to participate in a night of debauchery. Not even for a joke.

  "Only a proper bedding will teach you proper respect for a warrior," he said. "Unfortunately, I have not the time to instruct you. Now, I thank you once again, katya, but I must return home." Then, for the third time, he tried to abandon her.

  In this instance, however, he stopped without her urging.

  He glanced left then right, studying the horizon. He cursed in a language she didn't
understand, then spun around to face her. A scowl marred the perfection of his features. "I have just realized you are a necessary burden, for I know nothing of your world beyond this enclosure."

  Her brows knit at "necessary burden." Her nostrils flared at his next words.

  "Take me to the nearest sorcerer."

  "No way in hell," she shot back.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. The stubborn stance said that he was a man used to issuing commands and receiving instant compliance. Normally she wouldn't even think twice about confronting someone with an overabundance of testosterone. But the way this guy was looking at her, as if he was a king and she was his royal subject headed for the guillotine, almost made her jump into action.

  "You will do as I say or--" He stopped abruptly. His eyes widened. "Curse it! There is something else I had forgotten in the excitement of returning to my homeland." He bared his teeth in a scowl. "'Tis something I would as soon forget again, but cannot, for my continued freedom depends upon it."

  "What?"

  "To begin, I must bed you."

  Katie stifled a gasp of alarm. Or maybe it was a gasp of anticipation. Maybe even anger that he'd said he would rather forget her. Whichever the reason, she'd already lost all claims to sanity. Any other woman would have run screaming for help before he'd finished his last sentence. Bed her, indeed.

  Silence stretched between them. With each passing second, she became increasingly aware of his nakedness, of him. She smelled his warm, masculine scent, felt the caress of his gaze over each and every part of her body as if she were naked. Her blood heated, and her hormones raced into overdrive, calling out, "I'll take you, I'll take you, and I'll do anything you want."

  "I won't discuss bedding you," she said, cutting through the silence, "but I will tell you that there are no sorcerers."

  For a moment his expression became unguarded, revealing pain and fury, but also desolation, a desolation that tied her stomach in a thousand tiny knots. "We do have psychics," she added, willing to say anything to wipe away such bleakness.